My completely batshit insane hairdresser now thinks I’m even more insane than he is, and I’m kicking myself for giving him the upper hand. First, I completely (and completely accidentally) blew off an appointment last week, leaving him irate and with the thinly-veiled promise to “get me back later” accompanied by an ominous hollow laugh. He then rescheduled me for what I thought was this evening at 9:30 p.m. (I know), which I dashed off to at the last possible second, leaving a lovely evening with Carol – one of my favorite people – and her utterly charming dad (I am in love with him. In love!). When I arrived, Squiggs looked at me with utter confusion, because my appointment was actually on Friday night at 11 p.m.

A Friday night haircut. At 11 p.m. Right. And seeing as that wasn’t possible, because that hoses not only my Friday night, but Adam’s, because we usually watch movies on Friday nights, and they are rather sacred these days, I opted to reschedule for Friday morning instead.

Friday morning at 7 a.m, that is. Jesus. So while most of you will be sleepily hunkering over hot cups of coffee, or maybe rousing young children from their peaceful slumber, I will be in the hairdresser’s chair being regaled with wildly inappropriate sexual innuendos and getting a penis thwapped in my ear, and what better way to kick off a weekend, I say?

Speaking of sexual innuendo, or rather, overt sexuality, have I ever mentioned my affinity for Cathouse: The Series? I love Cathouse. Love. It’s all so…ridiculous and sad and pathetic and all the things that prostitution is, but it’s so utterly compelling I can’t tear myself away. These women take their jobs so seriously, and they honestly believe it has some sort of future in prostitution, like what, I cannot actually fathom. The things they dream about are often so inane that it’s clear that they have the collective IQ of a potato (“I love unicorns! And ben-wa balls! I totally bet that heaven has lots of unicorns and ben-wa balls. That would be totally awesome!”), which I find surprisingly shocking and endearing, given the fact that I’m talking about women who make a living wearing clear platform high heels and fringed chaps.

I might also add that I have the same affinity for G-String Divas, a fact that I announced at the dinner table with my dad and entire extended family, to my brother’s endless amusement and Adam’s horror, as I talked WITH MY DAD all about how strippers are fascinating beings, just FASCINATING, and really, they’re just trying to make it like everyone else. I did, however, draw the line at my outright adoration with a loud “OH COME ON NOW!” when stripper Jordan pleaded her case to the camera, explaining that exploiting her body for money was no different than working in an office because most people sleep their way to the top in offices, so why shouldn’t she at least get paid for it? Because stripping is just like sleeping with your boss for a promotion! What’s the big deal? Oh, Jordan. I love you.

I should mention here that one of the girls in my sorority was a stripper, a few hours away in Albany, and actually stripped her way through college and the stories she had were utterly riveting. The customers! The lap dances! The bizarre fetishists! The ah, Special K that she did on a regular basis to come down from the coke she did to stay alert during the drive home. Good times.

Not that all strippers do this, because although the drug use wasn’t really my deal, I will admit to a certain…admiration for her dedication to at least use her stripping powers (and rock-hard abs) for good instead of evil. And last I saw her, she was getting married to my ex-boyfriend on The Knot’s on-demand wedding channel. So at least, you know, she hung up the g-string. I assume. Then again, I can’t be sure about that.

The truth is, I have no problem with porn, strip clubs and/or legal prostitution. I don’t go all Camille Paglia about it, but it certainly doesn’t keep me up nights. And Isabella Soprano? Love her. Oh, I love her so.

I thought I was the only person on earth who loved Cathouse with an unusual passion – is it not the funniest, most bizarre show? How can you not love those women?! They’re like characters from central casting, only they’re real. I have to remind myself sometimes that it’s all real. Like when they’re smashing their bare breasts into a birthday cake, or when they’re having a “proper” tea on Thursdays with Madam Suzette.

2.
ali | April 4th, 2007 at 5:06 am

I TOO LOVE CATHOUSE! the owner makes me laugh until i pee my pants b/c honestly? is there a happier man in all the world? and i’m not going to lie– i’m very worked up about this 2nd season b/c is there regular filming? when do the next episodes come on?! (this is all b/c i am afraid to look on the website in case my mom comes over and googles…. i dont know CATS or HOUSES and then this would pop up and give her a heart attack).

also? a girl in my LAW SCHOOL stripped her way through her degree. on one hand i applaud her moxie, golf claps for her constitutional rights to express herself and kudos to her method of avoiding student loans, but what if the law partner of the firm she’s interviewing with wants a lap dance? my brain is boggled.

I wish I had HBO, that show looks like it would be pretty awesome. I’m actually going through a sort of stripper-love phase because I just read Diablo Cody’s book, Candy Girl, and it was so fascinating. So then I spent like 2 hours at work looking up all these strippers’ blogs and finding weird websites like bloodytrixie.com (don’t go there, okay? Just…. don’t.) and wasting company time and waiting for an IT guy to run down and say “STOP!!! That’s PORN! At WORK!! STOP!!” and cut off my internet access forever.

Love the Cathouse and Isabella Soprano too! Indeed when Anthony mentioned he was going to take a “mancation” to Vegas I may have asked him to say a big Whatup! to the Cathouse crew. Apparently they’re pretty far out from Vegas proper, and what is the fun if there isn’t a casino?

7.
Orange Peacock | April 4th, 2007 at 6:27 am

DUDE! So, I’m taking this class called “Prostitution and Human Rights” (and, somehow it is not full…even with a title like that listed in the schedule!!) and my first thought upon reading this (aside from that I hate not being able to afford cable) was that I totally have to tell my professor about it, and suck up.

I. Am. So. Pathetic.

Oh well. If I watched it, I’d just wind up trying to analyze the sociological implications of it and the tropes it exhibits and blah blah freaking blah, so maybe it’s just as well that my TV options are limited to broadcast news and American Idol. Neither of those programs creates any sort of mental stimulation beyond “please tell me he/she did not just do THAT.”

I have a stripper story. Two, really. (1) My sorority president stripped her way right through college as well. Her dues were always paid right on time. (2) An acquaintance of mine was a stripper in college as well, which is where she met her very rich, heir-to-a-national-flower-chain husband. Their champagne toast at their wedding was with the bottle he sent her after his lap dance. Awwww.

I am with TB: what kind of hours does that man work? That is just crazy. Which, I guess, makes sense since he is apparently crazy.

I have never heard of any of those shows you mentioned. And I thought Isabella Soprano was going to be one of the Sopranos, so I clicked on that link, and now I am a little worried that the IT dept at my firm is going to think I am porn-obsessed. Which I’m not. FYI.

I love that you’ll be starting the day with the THWAP!ing… That man is crazy – an 11 PM haircut? WTH? Stripping/ers: No personal problem with them, I just always wonder how/where they get thier shoes. Those things are insane!

PS Glad to hear things are going well w. your new, be-stemmed ‘friend’. May have to check one out sometime. Laughed aloud about the oragami bit.